Between Two Hills
by Star-Crossed Rose
Summary: Sequel to There's Another River. Harry and Draco have more mayhem to deal with at Hogwarts- cleaning up old messes and prejudices, and dealing with the new ones. There are curses to be broken, wands to be found, and mysterious people with unknown agendas- but most importantly, they have to get along- with each other and in life.
1. Drifting Round and Round

**Hello! Welcome to the sequel to There's Another River on the Other Side. Enjoy...**

 _The river ends between two hills_

 _(Follow the drinking gourd)_

 _There's another river on the other side_

 _(Follow the drinking gourd)_

Harry was doing something. He didn't know what it was he was doing, only that it was important. This did not narrow things down, as Harry had a depressingly high number of important things that needed doing.

It wasn't his fault. Harry was in the library, but Madame Pince was not. She had stepped out of the library, something Harry had never known her to do before, and the library erupted into chaos. Apparently no one else had ever seen Madame Pince leave the library either.

 _We've seen her outside before though_ , Harry thought, rather crossly. Logically, they should know that sometimes Madame Pince was not in the library. But no, they thought they just had to scream about it. Not that Harry could understand what they were screaming. He couldn't focus, not on what he was supposed to be doing, not on what they were saying, not on the significance of Madame Pince leaving, and it was all thanks to these… _students_. Harry couldn't figure out what else to call them. They were acting like First Years, but they _weren't_ all First Years, they were from every year, and that shouldn't _matter_ …

Somewhere in the back of Harry's mind, he could vaguely acknowledge that he was overreacting. Or rather, he was underreacting to Madame Pince's departure. It was true that she had never left the library unattended with students inside before.

Also in the back of Harry's mind was the thought that his negative reaction to the other students conducting an impromptu party might be due to him being older. But he refused to give that thought the validation of actually thinking it.

Harry sighed, and with nothing better to do, checked the time. It turned out that was the best thing he could have done, as he had a class in three minutes.

Eyes wide, Harry stuffed his parchment into his bag, hoping that whatever important thing it was wasn't _too_ important. He made his way through the mob, finally picking up snatches of phrases.

"-didn't _mean_ to stop him-"

"-really messed up okay, you just can't-"

"-and she wasn't even ready for History-"

"-is the timeline imploding? Because-"

Harry glanced around, trying to find the source of each of the rather alarming phrases, but no one looked suitably alarmed, so he kept going. There were a few Gryffindors starting a conga line- no, that was a Ravenclaw at the head. Harry had never been so delighted to be wrong.

He made it out and ran to Defense, all thoughts of Madame Pince and perplexing conversations and Houses and conga lines pushed firmly out of his head in favor of, finally, focusing.

* * *

Professor Essen Tod confused Harry on the best of days. Not because her teaching was difficult to understand, but because he couldn't figure out what her agenda was. She was so timid, and always reporting to the Ministry, and had at first supported bullying Slytherins… but then she had stopped, and the Slytherins claimed she was leading reforms in the Ministry. Actual good ones that were necessary.

So Harry hoped his Defense class would shed some light on exactly who Professor Tod was. He slid into his seat just as the bell finished ringing, hoping she wouldn't notice. She did, sending him a raised eyebrow before very pointedly writing something down. Harry slumped in his seat and slid a glance to his left, where Ron and Hermione sat. Ron shrugged sympathetically but Hermione's face was carefully neutral. Harry couldn't blame her for disapproving though, considering he actually wanted to come to this class.

"Today," Professor Tod announced, "we will talk about defending against unplanned attacks. Would anyone like to try to define what I mean by unplanned attacks?"

For once, Hermione's hand didn't shoot into the air. She looked thoughtful. She did raise her hand after a few seconds, prompting Harry to realize that he probably should have been thinking about the answer rather than gazing expectantly at her. He slid an embarrassed glance at Ron, but Ron was also staring at Hermione. It was a very different stare than Harry's. He smirked, and then realized that most of the class had been side-eyeing Hermione the entire time she'd thought through the answer.

"Yes, Ms. Granger," Professor Tod said. Had she also been anticipating Hermione's hand? She had.

"By _unplanned_ , do you mean not pre-conceived?" Hermione asked.

"I do," Professor Tod allowed, "but there is another element to it."

She waited, but no one answered. "Control," she finally explained. "Unplanned attacks are uncontrolled attacks."

The rest of the lesson was mostly discussion, which Harry had never expected to enjoy- Defense classes were supposed to be useful, and applicable to real life, which meant they should include actual defense practice. But the discussion did seem relevant- it was about magic, after all, and Harry currently had a vested interest in how magic worked.

Professor Tod closed the discussion and let her class begin packing up. As they turned in their seats to pick up their bags and put their possessions in order, she told them, "The most common unplanned attack is accidental magic. When done by an underage witch or wizard, the magic is not usually considered an attack because it's at a level that is easy for trained adults to control. When accidental magic is done by someone trained, however, there is very little control involved on anyone's part, and can be very dangerous- to everyone."

Harry would have liked to think about that, but in the flood out the door, he had to devote his focus to pushing through the halls. He had an appointment.

* * *

For once in his day Harry arrived on time to something. He smiled at the First Years who came trickling out of the Potions classroom, and they smiled back. It was a Hufflepuff-Slytherin class, but it wasn't just the Hufflepuffs smiling at him. The Slytherins were, in fact, coming up to him.

Harry never would have suspected in his own first year that he'd come to enjoy hanging out with Slytherins of any and all ages. But escorting the younger Slytherins around, and consequently spending time with the older Slytherins, had become comfortable in both routine and company.

The trip through the dungeons from Potions to the Slytherin common room wasn't particularly long, but Harry wasn't willing to let the First Years fend for themselves. Hogwarts could be a dangerous place when certain people judged by House. Also, they had specially asked him to walk them, and he couldn't refuse.

At the stretch of stone that was actually the entrance to the Slytherin common room, Harry made his usual show of covering his ears and allowing the First Years to giggle at him while one whispered the password. He stepped inside with them without hesitation. Knowing his place was very satisfying.

His particular place in the Slytherin common room was at a corner table used almost exclusively by the Slytherin Eighth Years. Harry dropped his pack by an empty chair- he wouldn't go so far as to call it his, but it was always empty and he did sit there a lot- and sat down. The occupants of the table- Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, and Draco Malfoy- didn't bother to look up, seemingly engrossed in their own projects. Harry rummaged through his bag and came up with the parchment he'd been staring at earlier. It was blank. Harry still had no idea what he was doing with it.

As if on cue, Malfoy glanced up. "Are you working on finding my wand?"

He wasn't, but he knew he should be. "Um…"

"Or is that about the Sorting Hat?" Zabini interjected.

It wasn't, but Harry had at least been thinking about that, and when he had the time he wanted to look at the connection between silent wandless magic and accidental magic. "Well, actually-"

But Pansy had her own ideas. "Are you finally working on your Quidditch strategies?"

"What?"

Harry wasn't the only one to say it; Malfoy seemed thrown as well. Pansy shrugged.

"Well, you signed up for the Eighth Years' team but I haven't seen you practice at all. You have a game coming up and I thought you might like to not embarrass yourself in it, but if you just don't care…"

"Of course I care about Quidditch," Harry replied heatedly. He then realized that he'd really been missing it. He'd have to put it into his schedule.

Malfoy was muttering. "Quidditch, how did we forget about _Quidditch_ …"

Harry wholeheartedly agreed, but out loud said only, "We did have a few other things going on."

This was an understatement, but the Slytherins accepted it with some amusement. Political agendas and kidnappings and unjust trials did count as _a few other things_ , as far as they were concerned.

And those _few other things_ provided Harry with the escape he needed. "Actually, it's for my official statement." He had no idea if that had been his original intention for the parchment, but it was one of the many things he was supposed to be doing.

"You haven't finished that yet?" Malfoy asked incredulously.

He had a point. It had been a week since the trial following Harry's kidnapping, and he'd had plenty of free time in the first few days while recovering from magical exhaustion. Malfoy had had the same time, and had probably used it wisely, but Harry couldn't help himself. "Have you?" he shot back.

Malfoy looked away.

"You haven't. You actually haven't," Harry said in shock, checking Blaise and Pansy's faces to make sure they were as surprised as he was. They were, so he shook his head at his blank parchment. "You _hypocrite_."

Malfoy huffed. "Well? If that's what you're doing, where's the letter asking for the statement?"

Malfoy and Harry had both received very official letters from the Ministry, which (insincerely) apologized for their treatment, and requested that they send in written statements instead of testifying in person, out of concern for their health. Malfoy had muttered ominously at that, and Harry had to agree with the sentiment, even if he couldn't understand anything Malfoy was saying.

The letter was necessary to the process of writing the statement because it included a long list of very detailed questions that Harry had not even attempted to read through, let alone memorize. He wondered if he should feel slighted that Malfoy had just assumed that Harry hadn't memorized them. It was technically possible.

Harry went through his bag in silence, knowing full well that the letter was back in Gryffindor Tower. He wanted to stay in the Slytherin common room a while longer that evening, and leaving meant there would be no guarantee of getting in again that night, as he relied on other students to open the door for him. That meant that in order to stay, he'd simply have to work on something else.

He continued his show of looking through the bag, and when he finally, inevitably, came up empty, he shrugged at the Slytherins with false innocence.

"I was sure I had it earlier," he told them blithely. "I guess I'll just have to-"

"Go get it?" Malfoy suggested.

"Ah, no, I'll work on-"

"No, you brought it up, and I'd like to compare answers," Malfoy said.

Harry let out a laugh, partially out of desperation. "It's not a test."

"But I'll be graded," Malfoy countered, and Harry knew that past the wordplay, he was right. The Ministry would pick over Malfoy's every word to make sure he didn't try to obscure the truth or contradict Harry's version of events in any way. And they'd both have to be careful that they didn't portray Malfoy as evil. Harry decided he should probably leave out the part of the narrative where he himself had been convinced Malfoy was going to let him die.

Harry sighed. "So, I'll meet you tomorrow?" he asked, picking up his bag and getting ready to leave.

"No," Malfoy said slowly. "You'll come back with your letter and we can work on it." He spoke as if it were obvious, and Harry hated that he'd have to state the obvious- the true obvious, not Malfoy's idea of obvious.

"I don't have the password," he said, fidgeting with his bag. "No one's going in and out, I won't be able to come back."

"It's 'six snakes slither silently'," Malfoy told him matter-of-factly.

Harry looked at him. He looked at Blaise and Pansy. They all had straight faces.

"Are you sure?" he asked hesitantly. This would be an incredible practical joke, but he didn't want to be the butt of it.

They all nodded, very seriously. Harry considered this, then marched over to the door and stepped outside.

He immediately turned around. "Six snakes slither silently," he told the wall grimly.

It opened. Harry looked inside to see the Eighth Years' lips twitching. Deciding to leave his bag, since he'd be able to get back in to it later (and maybe he should have brought it with him when he didn't know that for sure, but oh well, what's past is past), Harry turned and began the trek up to Gryffindor Tower.

His world was turning on its head. The First Years might have been laughing at the password, not at him, he was freely given the Slytherin password, and _the Slytherin password was a silly tongue twister_.

 **Word count: 2257**

 **(Consistent formatting? Consistent chapter length? Consistent anything? Nah... that is, hopefully later when I have more time.)**

 **Please review! I love hearing what you think, both about the story and about the quality of my writing. Thank you!**


	2. Keep Pushing On

**It's been a while, but I'm finally writing again. You can expect an update by next week.**

Harry couldn't help but feel a little ridiculous as he hurried up the stairs on his way from the dungeons to Gryffindor Tower. He was going to have to come all the way back down, and then all the way up again… why were their common rooms so far apart?

"Silver lioning," he told the Fat Lady, and she swung open without giving him any acknowledgement other than a lazy nod. He could sympathize. It was right after classes, everyone should be relaxing, not running all over the castle.

Scrambling inside, Harry made his way through the common room. A few people glanced at him, but no one seemed to feel the need to call out. Again, Harry could relate. He didn't really have any energy to spare either.

He trudged up the stairs to his dorm. Really, why did Hogwarts need so many stairs? Harry could appreciate that a few staircases a day helped keep him in shape, but… Harry couldn't even finish his thought. He really was too tired for this.

Harry reached the dorm. Harry found the letter. Harry mechanically turned around to go back down all those steps, trying not to think about how he'd just have to come back up then later.

"Harry!"

It was Seamus, sitting with Dean and Parvati. "You're back early," he continued, waving Harry over, and what could he do? He walked over.

"Actually, I just had to get something…" he tried to say, but Dean was chattering something about Gobstones and gesturing for him to take a seat. Sighing, Harry shook his head and held up the sheet of parchment, hoping they would somehow interpret that as a sign he had to go. He opened his mouth to try and use his words again, but once again he was interrupted, this time by Parvati.

"You're going back to Slytherin, aren't you? Really, Harry? After you got all the way up here? I mean, it's great that you're branching out, I'm all for House cooperation, but it just seems very inconsiderate of them to have you running up and down to fetch things- that's what you were doing, right? With that?" Harry lowered the paper, but she kept going. "It's like your first deal all over again. You run everywhere for them while they sit back and benefit, it's like it's all some big scheme for them-"

"Parvati," Dean said uncomfortably. Seamus, between them, was uncharacteristically quiet.

"Yeah," she allowed, deflating. "Sorry. That was… out of line. I know they're trying, it's just… it doesn't always look like it. They're pulling at you, and it's okay for you to pull back, I think." She sat back, putting her head in her hands. "Sorry," she said again.

"You're not completely wrong," Harry said slowly. "But…" He sighed. "I have to go."

Parvati nodded, not looking at him. Dean said, "You're going for a reason, right? They're helping you?"

Harry nodded. Of course. It did help to remember that. It was always good to listen to Dean, he often had something unusually wise to say. He looked pensive, as if he had something now. Harry gave him his full attention.

"So there's a silver lioning," Dean said solemnly.

Harry laughed, and Parvati did too. Harry could see the joke was mostly for Parvati's benefit, but he appreciated it all the same. Nodding his goodbye, Harry left them to continue cheering her up.

Going down the stairs was much better than going up the stairs, and Harry could feel his mood lift a little more. He had something to look forward to at his destination, after all. It was incredible to think Slytherin would have such a fun, silly password, but he'd tested it himself and it was true. Had it always been like that? The password in Second Year, "Pureblood", had been an uncomfortable shock at the time, and he still couldn't quite equate that with the Slytherins as he knew them now. They'd changed, right? Or they weren't as bad as everyone had thought?

Arriving at the stretch of stone wall that marked (or, well, didn't, it was blank) the entrance to Slytherin, Harry took a moment to savor the satisfaction of knowing he had a place here because he had the password, freely given.

"Six slithering snakes…" He stopped. That wasn't it.

"Six snakes slither silently."

Nothing.

"Six snakes slither silently," he said, more firmly.

Still nothing.

"Six snakes slithering silently?"

Nope.

"Six serpents… no, it was snakes. And they were slithering silently!" Harry told the wall, resentfully.

The wall did not respond. Harry stared at it incredulously. He had tested this. Because he had known, deep down, it was too good to be true. He'd known it was all a joke, but he hadn't imagined they'd go to these lengths. He might have to apologize to Parvati, apparently she'd had clearer sight than he had…

Moving down the hallway a few steps, Harry leaned against the cold wall. What should he do? Knock, and let them laugh at him? He'd come all the way down, with the letter, and had no doubt that they would actually work on it, and that would help him… but did he want their help, at that price? His pride said _absolutely not_. Parvati had said _pull back_. But the Slytherins had said _come back_.

Well. If they'd wanted him to come back, they shouldn't have locked him out.

Decided, Harry was preparing himself for the long trek back to Gryffindor when the wall scraped open.

"Calm down- calm _down_ I said-"

"There were supposed to be two more days, you can't just-

"We can now stop this and shut the door, you can't leave it open-"

"Why not? It's our common room! We all agree!"

"The dangers-"

"What dangers? Isn't it your job to make sure it's safe?"

"The Ministry realizes we much prepare for anything-"

"Then prepare for this!"

Harry had reflexively pressed himself flat to the wall, but now he rummaged for his Invisibility Cloak. He had been trying to use it less, but after Mitxel Harry didn't want to take any chances. Pulling it over himself, Harry ghosted closer.

There was a Ministry worker standing inside, arguing with what seemed the whole of Slytherin and trying to force the door closed while Zabini held it open.

Harry stomped on his sudden hopes. He shouldn't jump to conclusions. Instead, he quietly slipped under the official's arm, inside the common room. Getting away from the door, someone elbowed him, but didn't seem to notice. Everyone was busy hurling abuse at the Ministry worker, who was hurling it right back, albeit in icy, clipped, technically-politcally-correct tones.

And that was strange, Slytherins usually seemed so composed, but everyone except the man from the Ministry had a red face and disheveled hair. They were practically spitting fire.

How very Gryffindor.

The Ministry man finally whirled away out the door, and Zabini poked his head out and checked the hallway before sighing and letting the door close. He didn't move from his post though.

The rest of the House seemed to collapse, fussily straightening their robes, taking deep breaths, and generally calming themselves, although the bitterness stayed flashing in their eyes. To Harry, they looked like a group of cats.

They were drifting back to their normal tables, except for Zabini, who was once again checking the hallway. The screeching had died down, but an unsettling mutter remained, filling the normally calm common room with tension as well as noise.

Zabini was still at the door. The other Eighth Years were at their table, but their eyes were on him. "Another fifteen minutes?" Parkinson called over to him, which Harry knew she would never usually do.

"As long as it takes," Zabini told her, and it carried throughout the room. Students glanced up and nodded approvingly. Parkinson nodded too.

And suddenly Harry could see through Parvati's eyes, that this could really be a very elaborate plot to convince him they were on his side, but he couldn't quite bring himself to believe it. Would Slytherins really resort to shouting and losing composure just to trick him? Could they sacrifice their image that way?

And Harry made his decision. Stalking over to Zabini, he whipped off the Cloak and said, "That won't be necessary."

Zabini jumped, and there were gasps and exclamations, but Harry was focused on squashing the smug voice in his head that was saying _this is payback_ because no, he was just being dramatic, and by this point he was pretty sure the password hadn't been a trick.

The Slytherins didn't seem so sure that he knew that, however, because they were practically mobbing him as they pressed forward, apologizing, and babbling out some story about the Ministry forcing them to change the password, and they'd tried to fight, and they would never do that to him, and Harry could only nod, unable to tell them that he'd figured as much. Was it insulting that they didn't think he'd worked it out? _Nah_ , Harry thought, _they just really felt bad about it_. Well. He had felt bad about it too, so this was actually kind of nice. Except it was also nice to be able to talk.

Somehow people calmed down and gave him space. Somehow, somehow Harry found himself at his table with the Eighth Years, who still looked anxious but also as if they were desperately pretending they weren't. _Cats_ , Harry thought again.

"I got the letter," Harry said, finally, as if that was the most important thing here, but the Slytherins seemed to latch onto that with relief.

"Great," Malfoy said, with only a weak attempt at a drawl, as if Harry hadn't just seen him screaming red-faced at an adult and then practically trip over himself to apologize. Well, they probably didn't actually know how much he'd seen and heard, Harry reflected. But he wasn't going to tell them. He had a feeling it would hurt their pride if he did.

And so there was shuffling, as Harry was moved next to Malfoy so they could compare letters, and parchment and quills and ink were all arranged on the table, with the other Eighth Years huddled around them. Harry was struck with the urge to ask if they'd ever seen a certain Muggle painting.

Harry hadn't really been sure what the point of "comparing" letters would be- shouldn't they be the same? But no, setting his letter down next to Malfoy's, it was immediately apparent that they had been given very different sets of questions.

This did not appear to phase the Slytherins. They just started writing down the notable differences in question content, which Harry could understand, but then they went and copied down differences in phrasing. Everyone seemed to be busy taking notes on something or other, even Malfoy, who had appropriated Harry's letter so that Harry was the only still body in the tableau.

The Slytherins moved on to attaching names and events to certain phrases, apparently identifying who connotations were supposed to be attached, but Harry was left behind. The Slytherins were acting as if this was completely normal, something to be expected, but Harry hadn't anticipated this. Harry mentally floundered for an explanation. The Slytherins expected the letters to be different because… well, the only difference should be that they were addressed to different people. Him and Malfoy. Harry didn't think that should cause too much discrepancy- they'd been at the same kidnapping after all, even if Malfoy wasn't there the whole time- so what was the problem? Why were their questions so different?

It finally dawned on him. It wasn't some fine detail about when Malfoy found Harry, or anything about the actual events that transpired that made different questions necessary. It was simply that Malfoy was a Malfoy, and he was Harry Potter, and the Ministry just happened to be in the mood to believe Harry over his childhood rival for once.

It helped, to remember that this was why he was spending time with Slytherin underclassmen in public, but mostly Harry was drowned in a roar of bitterness. The Ministry was still corrupt, the world was still unfair. And mixed up in his flood of resentment were the Slytherins themselves. They hadn't bothered to mention this to him, just as they weren't bothering to get his input now. They just snatched up his letter so they could fix everything the way they wanted it, so they could shape their image in Harry's name-

Harry forced himself to stop. The Slytherins hadn't even noticed his internal dilemma, and they continued to work around him, and that hurt too. But he refused to feel too deeply. He had to think.

Did they think he would have worked it out on his own? That it was obvious? They had talked about how their statements would be carefully scrutinized, so they should be very deliberate in what they put down, but Harry had thought that meant they would give him some tips and help him proofread, not completely write his statement without him-

Harry made himself stop again. That wasn't what they were doing. They were just decoding the letters, and making an outline of exactly what Harry's statement should say.

…Yeah, they were writing his statement without him.

He didn't know what to do. He didn't want a fight, he couldn't fight them. He did want their help, he needed it, but he wanted to use his own words, not be a puppet obediently copying out their script. It wasn't that he wanted to sabotage Malfoy, really, but couldn't he have control over any part of his life?

Before he could decide, his letter was handed to him, as well as the outline he had spotted. "Can you have a draft done by tomorrow?" Malfoy was asking him, as if this was perfectly normal, to have him go all that way to get his letter just so they could read it and tell him what to say.

At least he got to write it himself, but Harry knew he would be tired enough tonight, and he wasn't done with the Slytherins yet. He doubted he'd be able to do more than write a paragraph by the next day. Remembering that Malfoy hadn't started his statement either, Harry felt perfectly justified in scowling at him. "Can you?"

Malfoy scowled back, and looked away. Good. Harry wouldn't seem behind if he didn't get a draft together immediately, and he didn't want to seem behind. Well. No more behind than they already thought he was, no doubt, considering how he had sat frozen while the Slytherins did everything.

But Nott was smirking, and Millicent Bulstrode caught his eye in approval. Apparently it was fine to push at Malfoy, even appreciated. No one seemed to realize Harry was feeling a desire to do worse than a shallow jab.

Again, he tried to stop himself and push that feeling down. He had something else he wanted to talk about, he knew it, and if he didn't announce it now, in the transition time, he'd once again be swept up in whatever the Slytherins decided.

Statements, for the Ministry, about what happened with Mitxel… what happened with Mitxel!

"Tod was saying something about magic today," he managed, and the attention turned to him.

"I would hope so," Zabini muttered, and a few of them let out a breath of amusement, but all eyes remained on Harry.

Trying not to feel self-conscious ( _you chose to be here, you want to say this, they're just curious and maybe want to get ahead for their own lesson with her, go on_ ) Harry continued, "It was about accidental magic, and how there's no control, and that's what makes it dangerous." It didn't feel like enough- Harry knew there was more he had thought about it, more that made it sound relevant and clever, but it wasn't coming to him. He sat back as if that was all he had meant to say.

Somehow it worked. The Eighth Years were thinking. He could see they'd made the connection, accidental magic and whatever Harry and Malfoy had done to move Mitxel's spell.

"I mean, I guess," Parkinson said finally. "You didn't know what you were doing and you still don't know how you did it."

"Accidental magic does happen at all ages," Nott said doubtfully, "but you were trying to do something, it wasn't out of nowhere."

"I wish it were accidental magic." Surprisingly, this was Malfoy. "Then someone could just swoop in, clean things up, and explain them."

"Sounds nice," Harry couldn't stop himself from saying. No one commented on it, probably thinking he was referring to the present mess, but Harry was remembering all the times the Dursleys had yelled at him and shut him in his cupboard. Harry had always been the one cleaning the messes. No one had ever come and explained.

"Once I completely shattered this heirloom vase," Nott said.

"I thought your family was more into jewels than ceramics?"

"It didn't belong to my family."

The Slytherins laughed, but Harry cringed. He'd broken things but it had never been anything to laugh about. He hoped they wouldn't be dragging this out into a recitation of destructive accidental magic that hadn't be punished. If it did they would notice that he didn't have any good memories of accidental magic.

Thankfully, the subject changed, although it was still about childhood. Apparently they'd all gone to the same parties, and they had been good enough to reminisce about. Harry still had nothing to contribute, but that was fine, they didn't seem to be expecting him to talk.

The Slytherins talked about parties. They talked about important people in the Ministry who had come over for tea, they talked about getting their first brooms. Malfoy did seem a little quieter, which Harry could appreciate, since the two of them were still waiting for the twins' brooms. But he still had stories of how he had agonized over different models, how he'd had to convince his father that yes, this very expensive broom would be well worth it. It was all incredibly foreign to Harry. When he had first heard of broomsticks, he had been told the Nimbus 2000 was the best, and he had believed it, but had there been other comparable brooms? It probably didn't matter, as he hadn't bought his own broom anyway. A seemingly perfect broom had landed in his lap but any choice had been taken out of his hands.

Harry half-heartedly scribbled down a few answers to his homework as he listened to the Slytherins, but he mostly just kept an eye on the time. When it was late enough that he could use curfew as an excuse, he began quietly packing up.

This got the Slytherins' attention back on him. They looked almost surprised, but didn't say anything about it. As he stood to go, they murmured their goodbyes, and Bulstrode said, "Can you come back tomorrow evening? We have something after classes."

Harry raised his eyebrows. And what would that something be, he wanted to ask, but that kind of straightforwardness wasn't common in Slytherin. It probably didn't matter. At least they wanted him back. And tomorrow would be a new day.

He nodded, and left as unobtrusively as possible. He had made a grand entrance, he didn't need a grand exit.

Harry hadn't been thinking about it, but the staircase at the end of the hallway forced him to remember how ridiculous it was to take multiple trips up and down the castle just to be around certain people. How hard would it be to install a few lifts? The Ministry had them. Just because they were students didn't mean they should be expected to get along without accommodations adults would insist on… perhaps he should have the Slytherins put together a petition. Since he would be seeing them anyway, and surely it wouldn't be too brash to mention how inconvenient it was to travel between common rooms all day…

Of course, it wasn't a problem for them, which Harry was a little annoyed about. Why couldn't they meet somewhere else? Why were they always the ones insisting they would meet in the dungeons?

Harry knew better than to get too upset, though. He tried to focus on the positives. They had given him the password, after all.

Except the password had been changed. And they hadn't told him the new password.

Well. That was hardly uncommon. Giving out their password in the first place had been the strange thing, but it had made him feel welcome. And now that offer of a place seemed to have been retracted. He wouldn't be able to get into the Slytherin common room in the evening after all.

And that was just tiresome. Should he ask for help? Just not go? Go, and hope someone would be around to let him in?

Harry just didn't know. There were too many stairs for this.

Somehow, amazingly, he reached Gryffindor Tower. Their password, at least, was the same. They hadn't turned around and changed the minute he'd turned his back. "Silver lioning," he told the Fat Lady once more, and she admitted him.

The common room was bustling and loud, as it usually was just before curfew. Nobody wanted to go to bed and leave the party. Harry smiled. This, he could count on, even if it wasn't great for studying.

…He really was starting to sound old. Or like Hermione. Wow.

Harry wanted to get a start on his statement, just in case he did meet the Slytherins the next day, but he told himself it could wait. He needed some time with his friends.

He carried his bag into his dorm room and then let himself into the party. He was welcomed easily. Someone handed him a butterbeer, even though Harry didn't think they were celebrating anything. He spotted Hermione and Neville in a corner, and made his way over to join them. They smiled at him, and didn't even bother trying to talk over the general commotion, just pointed over to where Ron and Ginny were arguing with some Seventh Years. It didn't look too serious. Harry felt warm. He was among people who knew him, in a place he could understand. Here, it was hard to remember why he was worried about fixing other people's problems and running their errands.

The rest of the night was laughter he couldn't hear above the noise, making eye-contact and smirking at all the right moments, and having conversations through gestures. It felt like a test to Harry, one that he wasn't the subject but the master of, for once. Hermione and Neville kept up with his silent statements easily, reacting clearly and honestly, and when Ron and Ginny finally joined them, the proud turn to their lips told Harry all he needed to know. He was satisfied.

When the Gryffindors started vanishing up their staircases into their dorms, Harry readied himself for his last climb of the day. Him, Ron, and Neville said their good nights to Hermione, and her response of, "Try to get some actual sleep instead of just thinking about Quidditch," was a confirmation that she _had_ known what he was gesturing about, a confirmation that had his mind whispering _Good_ approvingly.

In bed, curtains mostly drawn, Harry stared at the statement and the notes the Slytherins had drawn up. He had a few minutes before they would turn the lights off, and he intended to use them.

 _Do not mention how Draco helped prepare your speech_ , the Slytherins' note instructed him.

Harry wrote, _As soon as I received the false invitation Draco Malfoy encouraged me to accept and did all he could to put me at ease by helping me write my speech._

The note continued, _Do not mention that Draco pretended to go along with Mitxel in a believable way._

 _Malfoy, upon walking into the situation, put his wand away in favor of chatting with Mitxel._

 _Do not imply it was guaranteed you would get out on your own._

Harry frowned a little at this- he hated using his reputation to his advantage, but the Slytherins obviously wanted to paint Malfoy as a hero with Harry simply being a pawn, and Harry couldn't let that happen. _It is alarming that such incidents are still happening even after my defeat of Voldemort, even if this was on a much smaller scale than what I am used to._

There. It blamed the Ministry and it didn't boost Malfoy's reputation, and it was the strict truth, every word of it. Harry set it aside as a draft, although it certainly wasn't one he would be showing the Slytherins. He'd have to write another draft, but it would be worth it, to see the looks on their faces when they finally realized they weren't the only ones who could trick others.

Ready to write a guileless, praising draft, Harry rummaged through his bag, but looking up he noticed a book on Ron's nightstand. "A little thicker than your usual bedtime reading, isn't that?" Harry murmured.

Ron looked up and grinned. "It's just a bit of light reading." They both laughed quietly, thinking of Hermione. "Actually, it's to help me come up with password ideas."

Taking a closer look at the book, Harry saw it was a factual book on cats, with jokes included, the cover promised. The current Gryffindor password, which all the Gryffindors found hilarious, suddenly made a lot more sense. Ron nodded at him, so Harry flipped it open. There was a bookmark in the middle of a section on lions, but Harry rifled through the pages until he found what he was looking for: _A group of cats is called a glaring._

A glaring of cats, Harry mused. That did seem to fit the Slytherins very well.

Drifting back to his own bed, Harry absentmindedly stuffed a piece of parchment deep into his bag. His statement was supposed to be only about what happened on Halloween, but how could he incorporate the way the Slytherins had banded together on his behalf, flushed and burning and indignant? And how could he do that without sacrificing the image they were so proud of?

Picking out a fresh piece of parchment, Harry began to write.

 _No one had any indication that the invitation was fake…_

 **Chapter word count: 4414**

 **Story word count: 6671**

 **If this isn't quite your cup of tea, the only way for me to possibly cater to your wants is to tell me. Reviews can be useful for you as well as for me. Also, it's just been a while, and feedback helps me keep on track.**


	3. Just a Step Away

**Updates when the author said there would be? From this author? It's more likely than I thought.**

 **Are disclaimers still a thing? They can be fun, at least, so I still have not become J.K.**

Harry woke up feeling refreshed. He wasn't sure why he even noticed; did he usually notice how tired or awake he was? He didn't think so, but it seemed worth noting that he felt much more energized than he had recently.

His classes were fine, everything was fine. Heading up some stairs at the end of the school day, Harry had a vague recollection of being upset about staircases the day before. Had he really thought that? He was an athlete, he shouldn't let a few stairs bother him! Feeling faintly embarrassed, Harry resolved to never let the Hogwarts stairs bother him again.

In Gryffindor Tower, Harry took a moment to enjoy the lull in the usual bustle, but only a moment. He had a feeling there was something important about yesterday he had forgotten. Why had he been so exhausted after a few staircases? There had to have been something else.

Harry was mostly sure he'd been with the Slytherins… wait, should he be with them now? Was he supposed to meet them? No, he told himself, struggling to remember. There had been something… the Slytherins had something after classes, he had time before he was supposed to meet them.

Not that that made any more sense. What were they doing, how long would it take, where would he meet them?

Harry picked up what was probably the most recent piece of parchment on the floor near his bed and frowned at it. It was… a very happy recitation of the events of Halloween.

Harry could vaguely remember writing such a thing, but had very little idea why he would have ever wanted to do that. It just wasn't him, and besides, hadn't he just remembered feeling upset the day before? There was really no way he could have been flipflopping between emotions so easily. Even if he had been so stressed that he couldn't remember much of the day, even though all that stress had meant he wasn't getting much sleep, and he couldn't remember the last time he talked to his friends about anything important, and sure, he'd been a little paranoid lately, but that was understandable, he just didn't want to be caught off guard again, his Halloweens were always bad but things just got worse as the year dragged on, it always happened…

Harry made himself take a deep breath. That… was sort of proof that yes, he was very tired and out of sorts and had no control over his emotions. He should really work on that, he couldn't afford more memory lapses. Hopefully nothing else important had happened yesterday.

Walking down to the common room, Harry sat down next to Ron, who immediately started talking to him about Quidditch. Quidditch? Right, Harry was pretty sure they'd talked about it yesterday. Well. He wasn't going to admit he didn't remember any of this, but that was fine. It was Quidditch. Harry was perfectly capable of faking his way through a conversation.

It turned out they'd apparently talked about starting practice with the new Eighth Year team, since they had a game coming up. It didn't help that Harry didn't have a broom yet, but they'd have enough challenges on the ground to work through, such as getting along with players from other Houses. They really should have started practices a long time ago.

Gradually, they quieted and focused on the assignments in front of them. Harry set about editing the statement he'd scratched out the night before. Just because he didn't know how he was going to meet up with the Slytherins that day didn't mean he shouldn't be prepared.

Using the helpful list of tips of what to mention and avoid mentioning, Harry crafted a statement that hopefully expressed his disappointment that Death Eaters were still running loose, banished any stray doubts that Malfoy was at fault because he was present, and gave them an accurate idea of what exactly happened. Nobody knew where Mitxel had vanished to, after all. They'd need everything they could get to find him. Not that Harry had much faith in the Ministry, but they deserved a chance.

Harry glanced at his now-annotated letter from the Ministry asking for a statement. Some Slytherin had gone through and underlined certain phrases, writing in the margins what they were alluding to. Harry raised his eyebrows; there were quite a few about the Goblin Wars. Would it be too obvious to drop in something about Gringotts and the current peace treaty? Could he even manage to slide that in there in a natural way?

Better yet, Harry thought suddenly, to reference something they've never heard of. Something Muggle. After all, they'd given him a loaded letter full of double meanings he would have had no way of understanding without the Slytherins. It would only be fair to return the favor… except, would they even recognize references? If they did suspect, would they search for the meaning? Would they even check Muggle sources?

Harry didn't know, but he scribbled down a few ideas. He then returned to editing his statement, although he was adding more enigmatic question marks than actual corrections. Harry was lost in this until someone cleared their throat.

Looking up, Harry saw a girl he didn't know very well, but was mostly sure was a Fourth Year. She grimaced at the awkwardness of the situation, but said, "The Slytherin Eighth Years are in the library and asked me to tell you to join them."

"They asked?" Harry said.

"Not really."

That, unfortunately, made more sense. Even if they had been polite about it, it was still rude to treat someone as a messenger if you didn't even know them. It wasn't right to have someone else run around doing your work for you.

Something else wasn't right. Harry eyed the way the girl was shifting. "So you came up here to deliver that message?"

"Actually I told them they could come to you for once," she let out. Harry laughed, and she did too, a little, finally relaxing. "That's okay, right? Most of us would let them in, and it would probably all be fine. They'd hopefully be a little confused and impressed, but it'd be fine."

Harry had to agree. "Thanks for that," he told her. "Do you think there's any chance they're coming?"

She shrugged. "Are you going to the library?"

"I don't think so," Harry said slowly. "No. I'll stay."

The Gryffindor girl nodded approvingly at him then, and slipped away to join her friends. Harry glanced at Ron. He'd been as deep into his work as Harry had been, but he had to have heard all of that.

The second Harry looked at him, Ron said, "So when the Slytherins get here, you don't even stand up. We should get someone to direct them over here- no, they'll probably do that on their own- or wait, maybe we should have everyone ignore them and just let them figure it out- it doesn't matter, however it happens, it'll be great. When they make it over here, we just act like it's completely normal, I keep doing my work and you start talking about your statement thing like it's all natural and you were in the middle of a conversation about it and they're late, and then when you're working we get Seamus to come over and do that special handshake with you-"

"I don't remember that," Harry said, and was suddenly afraid he'd revealed his recent memory problems, but Ron was shrugging and continuing to talk.

"Yeah, I'm mostly sure he doesn't either, it was pretty complex. But you've got to impress them, intimidate them a little, show them how happy you can be without them. But also you've got to show them that we're safe, that we're not afraid of them and they should stop being afraid of us."

"Afraid?"

"Okay, not really, anymore, but they're being really separate and there's really no need for it, it's getting to the point of being really uncomfortable just passing them in the halls, and if we want to get to being a team-"

That explained it. Quidditch. Of course. "I'm not sure intimidating them will help build a team."

"No. But it'll be fun. And as nice as it sounds to get along and all, no one's going to go for that without feeling we've gotten even with them first."

Harry could see that. Gryffindor was very competitive, after all. They didn't like tying. "Do we really need to plan everything out though?"

"Probably not. Presentation is everything, but we just need everyone to be themselves. All that's left to do is look confident!"

"Confident," Harry repeated. "Sure, but… are you really all that _confident_ they'll even come?"

"They will," Ron told him, assured of himself. "They were challenged, they can't back down from that."

And sure enough, there was a commotion near the entrance portrait. As if someone had knocked. And there were Gryffindors scrambling to answer, and they drew back, blank-faced for a second before grinning and ushering in the party outside.

It was the Slytherins. _It was the Slytherins_. Harry watched them, amused, out of the corner of his eye as they awkwardly ducked and climbed inside. Harry could see Ron's point about appearance. He didn't want to even look as if they'd notice him. He wanted them to see how they would be treated in Gryffindor without his interference. And he wanted to look supremely unconcerned about his surroundings, just so they'd see how he knew he was safe in the Tower, so they would see how comfortable he was. Confident.

Harry didn't see how they found their way over to him and Ron, but they were suddenly right in front of him. Without bothering to offer them a seat- they could pull up another couch or two on their own- Harry said, "I've got the content down but how closely will they be reading this? Because there's a bit more I could put in, but I'd like to compare with what you've got." Completely matter-of-fact. Ron wasn't even smirking as he continued to work calmly on his own project. It was Transfiguration, Harry noticed. He was glad. Ron had been doing well in Transfiguration this semester.

The Slytherins settled down gingerly. Malfoy looked at the table- Harry and Ron's papers were sprawled out over much of the surface. Ron casually moved a few of his aside, but he was still taking up plenty of space. Harry didn't bother tidying any more. The Slytherins should learn to let their pages overlap a bit with others'. It didn't hurt.

Malfoy put down a single sheet, as far away from Ron's work as possible. Harry resisted from scoffing. They were trying, at least. Behind the Slytherins, Harry could see a few students making faces, a few muttering sullenly. But there were older students watching them carefully, some ready to restrain, some writing. Satisfied, Harry didn't let his eyes dwell on them. The Slytherins didn't need to know how Gryffindor managed conflict, or that they were being used, just a little, to determine who was most against cooperating with them.

Studying Malfoy's statement, Harry severely hoped it was just a draft, because it was even shorter than Harry's. It was also very tense. "This reads like you don't even want to be talking to the Ministry," he pointed out.

"That's because I don't," Malfoy grumbled. Immediately, his shoulders tensed and he very pointedly did not look at Ron. When Ron did not react in any way, however, to witnessing Malfoy act as a human, Malfoy relaxed a little. The other Slytherins, silent and clustered around him, did too.

"You don't want to look like that." It was incredulous, a little, but it was a statement. _Confident_. And Malfoy was nodding, almost meekly. It was perhaps the feeblest Harry had ever seen him. Presentation really was everything.

The Slytherins were still quiet, as they worked on their statements, choosing their words carefully and not straying from the subject. But they managed to work. Their statements grew longer, without being identical. Harry was content.

The time came for the Slytherins to go. Harry knew it, but they didn't seem to. "Thanks for coming," he told them. He didn't want to sound overly happy that they'd made the trip instead of him, but he had to cue them somehow that this was the end of the day. "We should work here more often." Because it had been very productive, and very relaxing, for Harry at least.

"It's not curfew yet," Malfoy pointed out tentatively.

Harry raised an eyebrow at him. "You have a lot of flights to go down," and glancing away, he added, "and you might want to stop somewhere else, I don't know your schedule." He could feel their dawning comprehension like heat blushing off of them, even though the Slytherins all appeared perfectly composed. They started packing up, but just as with their entrance, Harry didn't get up. It felt like a deliberate snub, but, he rationalized, they never exactly walked him to the door either, in their common room. And he wanted to impress upon them that this was his home, and he didn't have to watch his every move here.

As they moved toward the door, Harry called out carelessly, "And tell me about how your thing went sometime, won't you?" The Slytherins froze for a second. Oh, that was interesting. They really didn't want to talk about whatever they'd been doing. Well. It wasn't as if Harry had given anyone cause for suspicion- his question was vague. He stayed relaxed, watching as they slowly relaxed also, realizing that they wouldn't be accused by anyone, that they really couldn't be, no one knew enough. They filed out quietly after that.

Watching them go, Harry finally let his lips twitch. "That went well," he said.

"Yeah," Ron said, finally looking up from his work. "I think it did."

 **Chapter word count: 2333**

 **Story word count: 9004**

 **I said I would post by this time this week and this is all I have written so this is the chapter. Maybe I'll alternate shorter and longer chapters... or maybe I'll just post what I have every week. But yes, I will be posting again by next week. I hope this chapter cleared up a few things! But if it didn't, or if you have anything else to say, or not, I will take just about anything, please review!**


	4. For Every One of Us

**I'm posting ahead of schedule, wow, but this is finished so it can go up. I am not become author Rowling, owner of this franchise. Enjoy!**

The days leading up to the weekend passed by in a whirlwind. Harry hadn't had the chance to test out any Muggle references on the Slytherins, to see if they would even realize there was a reference to try to comprehend, but he was thinking up a few good ones. If the Slytherins confirmed the Ministry would search for any and all hidden meanings in whatever Harry sent, Harry would be able to actually enjoy an interaction with the Ministry, for once.

Saturday morning dawned crisp and clear. Harry sighed and made himself look away from the blue sky. He would be too busy with schoolwork to spend much time outside.

Breakfast was a melancholy affair. Harry ate with no particular excitement as he watched the owls swoop down. Once, the arrival of the post had made each morning something to anticipate, but Harry couldn't remember the last good piece of mail he'd received at Hogwarts. It really was sad, how the passing of the years had led to the loss of the novelty of receiving even a simple letter.

But there was more of a commotion than usual, so Harry continued to stare into the cloud of beating wings. No mail got this much attention unless it was a Howler or a package…

It was a package. For an absurd moment, Harry remembered the brooms he had received, but this package was much too large for a broomstick. Fortunately, it was heading for the Gryffindor table, it seemed. Harry would be able to crowd around the recipient with the others and see what it was.

Harry was prepared to move as soon as it was evident exactly who the package was headed for, but he half-stood, half-sat frozen as it was carried closer and closer to him. The owl finally dropped it in front of Ron. Harry looked across the table at him, wide-eyed, but Ron was grinning

"About time!" he said, tearing into it. "Someone should go get Malfoy."

And Harry understood. It _was_ a broom- two of them, in fact. The broomsticks that had belonged to Fred and George, that Ron had asked George to send for Harry and Malfoy. That knowledge firmly in his head, Harry realized that he was the one who should probably be going over to the Slytherins, but some Gryffindor was already there. Harry took a minute to be impressed with his House before leaning forward to inspect the brooms, as many Gryffindors were already doing.

Malfoy would have to fight through the huddle to get to his broom, Harry thought in passing, but he was too focused on the brooms and what everyone was saying about them to pay that much mind.

"The Cleansweeps always were good brooms, and just because the models don't race to keep up with the Firebolt line hasn't made them any less-"

"George really took care of those! Those tails must be fresh-trimmed."

"I haven't flown against a Cleansweep in a while but I remember their tricks, I'll just have to-"

At that comment, Harry started. This was not a House inspecting a new broom on their team. Harry and Malfoy, and these brooms, would be playing against them. They were forming a battle plan.

Harry couldn't let it bother him too much, since everyone was being a good sport about it and he knew they already would have known about the brooms, since they had been on the House team for years. It did seem about time to take them out of the spotlight though. But Malfoy wasn't there yet, so Harry kept his peace.

Right on cue, someone was ripped out of the huddle, creating a gap. Harry saw the Gryffindor who had gone to fetch Malfoy for a second, and then she cheerfully shoved Malfoy into the space she had created. He looked only a little uncomfortable. The Slytherins behind him, straining on tip-toe to catch a glimpse of the brooms, looked notably more so.

Harry looked ruefully across the brooms at Malfoy. He couldn't say anything to him without shouting, so he let the chatter, which had not let up any at Malfoy's arrival, speak for him. From the way Malfoy's eyebrow arched in wry amusement, he understood perfectly the multi-House inspection and their powerlessness against it. There were some Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff faces peering between bodies. They seemed to be having more success than the Slytherins, who were refusing to duck.

Finally, the Houses determined they had said all that could be said about Cleansweeps, and drifted away. Harry reached out to pick up a broom, before hesitating and looking at Malfoy. Should he offer first pick? Not that Harry needed the better broom, they were on the same team, but he _was_ the Seeker. Not that he'd gotten Malfoy to agree to that, but Harry couldn't see him being able to argue the point too much. But that wasn't the point, was it? Was Harry just trying to get the better broom because of good Quidditch sense, or was he being greedy? Was he-

Before he could continue his train of thought, Malfoy let out a sigh so dramatic Harry knew he was rolling his eyes, said, "They're the _same_ ," and grabbed a broom at random. Well. That handled that. Harry took the remaining broom and stood.

"Shall we practice?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant. He wanted nothing better than to spend hours in the sky, getting better acquainted with his new broom. Harry knew it wouldn't be a Firebolt, but that was fine, he was prepared to learn something new. Sure, he'd flown on it the previous summer, but- Harry just really wanted to fly, okay?

"We do have a game next week," Malfoy replied, just as casually, but he looked as excited as Harry felt. Or, no, he looked as calm as he sounded, but Harry thought he seemed more energized than he had been the past few weeks.

Then the meaning of his words sunk in. "We have a game next week," Harry repeated numbly. "And we haven't practiced _once_ \- who are we playing?"

"Ravenclaw," Ron informed them, still seated. Malfoy glanced down at him in surprise. Harry could practically see Malfoy's dawning realization that yes, he was now on the same Quidditch team as Ron Weasley. Oh, this would be fun.

"Who's on our team?" Harry asked. The amount of knowledge Harry didn't possess was becoming more apparent to him by the second.

"I've got Heidi Macavoy and Patrick Bradley as Chasers, and Maxine O'Flaherty and Jason Samuels for Beaters," Ron listed. It was implied that Ron would be Keeper and Harry would be Seeker, leaving Malfoy as the third Chaser, but Harry wasn't ready to confront him about that.

Not looking at Malfoy, Harry did his best to deflect the conversation he could feel coming. "I thought you were asking that other Beater from Ravenclaw?"

"She wanted to focus on her studies this year, she's trying to get some work experience as a Healer in her free time so she'll be set for after Hogwarts," Ron replied easily. "So Malfoy, you'll be fine as Chaser?"

Harry held his breath, shocked, but Malfoy said, "Sure," and they moved on. Harry was the only one left behind, as Ron and Malfoy started discussing putting together a team practice. Could it really be that simple? Was Malfoy as fine with this as he had sounded, or would it come back to bite them? Harry was tired of delayed reactions, but he didn't want to poke into this any further, so he simply listened.

"You go ahead and I'll get everyone else," Ron was saying. "We can talk about other practices when the whole team's there."

Malfoy nodded and stepped away from the table, so Harry followed him. They walked out of the Hall and made their way to the Quidditch pitch in silence.

"I can't believe I flew my last broom for six years," Malfoy said finally. It sounded more pensive than an invitation for conversation, so Harry stayed quiet. He'd had his Firebolt for… four to five years. The Nimbus 2000 had only lasted a little over two years. It was a little surprising to realize he'd gone through more brooms in their school career than Malfoy had. The realization was a strangely discomfiting one.

A voice Harry didn't like very much whispered, _six years on the same broom must have felt like what he imagined torture to be, he was used to always getting something new, and now he's going to hate having such an average broom_. Harry told himself to shut up. He knew better. Malfoy had had to earn his broom, and he had no choice but to accept what he had been given and accept it graciously. As if to confirm what Harry was thinking, Malfoy said, as an afterthought, "Hopefully this one lasts longer."

 _It already has_ , Harry almost said, but decided against it. There was no point in bringing up that these were used brooms.

They were quiet the rest of the way to the Quidditch pitch. Harry wandered a short distance from Malfoy and mounted his broom. Looking up and breathing in the clean November air, Harry kicked off.

This

This was

Flying was

Flying was everything Harry had been missing. It was a challenge, it was ability, it was freedom. It wasn't running away but gaining perspective. None of Harry's problems- Malfoy's missing wand, the statement, Mitxel's whereabouts, getting the Houses to cooperate, getting the Ministry to do its job, figuring out what Harry was going to do after Hogwarts and what he should be doing to prepare for that- were out of his head, but they were easier to break down from this altitude. One thing at a time. Even the homework Harry had thought he would be so busy with was reduced to something Harry could overcome easily.

The broom wasn't a competitive model. It wasn't sought after by any top Quidditch teams, it wasn't anything like Harry's previous brooms, but as Harry did a lazy barrel roll, he couldn't bring himself to care. He was pretty sure Malfoy felt the same. Malfoy was trying out similar maneuvers at low speeds, and while Harry knew this was good practice and would help both of them become accustomed to the brooms, he suspected that Malfoy, like himself, was simply doing it because he could.

Harry spotted Ron and some others come onto the field, and banked his broom into a controlled dive. Malfoy followed at similarly relaxed speeds. Landing, they formed a loose circle with the new arrivals.

Looking around, Harry saw faces that he had only really met in the air. He could identify them by position, and by House, but wasn't able to put names to faces. He couldn't even remember the names Ron had listed off so easily earlier.

"I don't know how we want to do this, but," Ron said, only a little self-consciously, "I'm Ron Weasley, I'm a Keeper, and I'm playing Quidditch because that's what my family does."

Harry side-eyed him incredulously and tried not to swallow nervously. An icebreaker? Really? Harry was to Ron's left, and to support Ron he should go along with it and lead them in going around the circle, but… he really didn't want to.

Fortunately, the person on Ron's other side laughed easily. "I'm Jason Samuels. I'm a Beater." Harry recognized him- he was a Ravenclaw. "I play Quidditch to help myself focus."

That was true, Harry realized. Having to budget his time, and all the physical activity of it, did help him focus on his work. He'd read about exercise being good for the brain. He hoped it was true.

Next to Jason was another Ravenclaw. Harry was a little disappointed to realize they were all grouped by House, but he let it go for now. They'd work together soon enough.

"I'm Patrick Bradley," the other Ravenclaw said. "I'm a Chaser and I play Quidditch to stand out."

Harry wanted to goggle at this overly honest answer, partly because it was almost the exact opposite of Ron's, but Ron was nodding thoughtfully at him so Harry paused. He supposed that Ron, always competing with his family in Quidditch, was technically also trying to stand out, even as he fit in. So Harry relaxed and tried not to think too deeply about it. They were only naming one reason, after all, not explaining their whole lives.

And suddenly Harry realized that _he_ would be expected to give a reason as to why he played Quidditch. Why did he? He'd been sort of thrust into it, after all…

"I'm Heidi Macavoy." Oh, they were on to the Hufflepuffs. "I'm a Chaser." At least she was standing next to a fellow Chaser. Good. They'd have to spend a lot more time together. "I play Quidditch to raise awareness about the segregation of professional Quidditch."

Harry hadn't been aware Quidditch was segregated in any way, but this sounded like the type of attitude he wanted on his team. He'd have to ask Ron later. Or Ginny.

"I'm Maxine O'Flaherty, I'm a Beater, and I play to win."

She stared around the circle as if daring anyone to laugh. Nobody did, and Harry didn't see why they would. It was a perfectly good reason, and it gave Harry the courage to admit his reason to himself. Before he could process it too thoroughly, however, he realized Malfoy was up next. This should be good.

"I'm Draco Malfoy. I'm a Chaser. I play Quidditch because I can." He delivered this with careful solemnness, as if it were a fact of life. Harry appreciated that in regards to the Chaser bit, but had to wonder about his reason. Was it the same as his own?

It was his turn. "I'm Harry Potter and I'm a Seeker." He almost said, _I'm a Gryffindor_. "I play Quidditch because I'm good at it."

Palms sweaty at his sides, Harry waited to have to explain that he wasn't trying to boast, it was just that this was something he had that no one had expected from him, it was his own talent, and that was important to him, but no one asked. He wasn't sure they understood fully, but they seemed to realize enough. Harry's breathing evened out.

Ron started to say something at the same time Jason Samuels did. The stared at each for a minute, then Ron nodded to him. Samuels nodded back, and said, "I'd like to see how we fly together, and then I think we should try to organize ourselves a little more."

That sounded good to Harry, and the rest of the team murmured agreement. They drifted apart to mount their brooms and kick off. They tried out a few basic formations. Everyone was a good enough flier that they held together easily. Then the Hufflepuff girls started calling out more difficult formations. Ron and the Ravenclaws joined in, and while they made a decent attempt at most of them, soon enough they were laughing too much to give their best efforts. They landed and regrouped.

On the ground, Harry was promptly reminded of what the next order of business was. _Organization_. That meant leadership. It wasn't a conversation Harry thought would go easily, but somehow, it did. They agreed to let Jason continue acting as a sort of leader, although they held off on naming a captain. It would probably be Jason, Harry knew- he seemed to have a knack for suggesting good ideas, and he wasn't pushy or rude.

And that was a big deal, on this team. Everyone was being overly polite, aware they were only barely held together. It didn't help that members from everyone's Houses had turned up to watch practice. It would be common enough at a normal House team practice, but then it was easy to identify that they were of the same House. Here, seeing someone from another House in the stands set shoulders to stiffening, only to forcibly relax when they spotted that they were all Eighth Years who wouldn't (shouldn't) be sharing their secrets.

Still, it was disconcerting, and when they spilled onto the field after the team started straggling toward the broom shed, it felt for a moment like every other confrontation Harry had ever had in this place.

But no, the Slytherins weren't here to take over the pitch, Harry had to remind himself. They were here for Malfoy, who did look a bit relieved to see them. Harry realized suddenly that Malfoy was the only Slytherin on the team, the only person without someone else from their House.

So Harry made himself welcome them, and made himself welcome the Gryffindors that joined them, even if he was remembering other times when their Houses had clashed on the Quidditch field. But he had seen them interact in the past few days. They were fine. Hermione was smiling.

It was a strange situation, but Harry thought he wouldn't mind getting used to it. "Will you be okay playing your own House?" he asked Jason.

Jason and the Eighth Year Ravenclaws clustered around him laughed. "We've been arguing about proper technique for years. This is my chance to prove that I knew what I was on about."

Harry smiled politely and backed away to join the Gryffindors. He was just a little uncomfortable that they were all separated by House, but figured they'd pushed boundaries enough for one day. Everyone would want to fall back to what they were most familiar with.

Somehow, every one of the Gryffindor Eighth Years had come. Harry couldn't recall most of them having any interest in Quidditch practices in the past, but it was certainly nice that they were being supportive of the crazy mish-mash the Eighth Year team was.

The Gryffindors were, of course, laughing and rowdy, chattering about the upcoming season and comparing merits of players. They seemed almost relieved, to be able to praise players from other Houses. Harry was reminded suddenly of Luna, who had never had any problems showing support for her friends, no matter their House. She would probably be rooting for her own House at the upcoming game, Harry supposed, but people could stand to learn a lot from her. Harry resolved that he needed to talk to Luna, soon. He hadn't seen her much lately and his life was the worse for it.

Glancing away from the Gryffindors for a second, Harry was pleasantly surprised to see Hermione and Malfoy chatting quietly. He drifted just a little closer. Malfoy was telling Hermione about Jason's ideas on how to better utilize the Beaters. He was more enthusiastic than Harry would have expected, but Jason's ideas could easily become revolutionary and after playing with Crabbe and Goyle, Malfoy was likely to be in awe of any even competent Beater, Harry thought.

Of course, Malfoy had also played against Fred and George. Harry tried not to dwell on how both pairs of Beaters now only had one person left alive, but thinking about it was inevitable, what with Harry and Malfoy using Fred and George's brooms. He hadn't noticed yet that the brooms were in any way used to flying for Beaters rather than Chasers or Seekers, but it was possible some tick would show itself in time. Harry wanted to be ready for it, just in case.

By this point, all Houses had noticed that Hermione and Malfoy weren't talking to their own House. The two had all eyes on them as they started chatting about exactly what Harry had been thinking: the new brooms.

"You'll do fine with the Cleansweep," Hermione was telling Malfoy, almost reassuringly. "It's not exactly the latest model, but it's still one of the better ones, I think."

"You would, Mudblood."

It wasn't Malfoy. Harry couldn't see who it was, but Malfoy's mouth hadn't moved, and he was turning in shock towards the speaker, as all the Slytherins were.

Right at their center, the only still point amidst a sea of pale, searching faces, stood Millicent Bulstrode.

 **Chapter word count: 3355**

 **Total word count: 12359**

 **Yes, this is exactly where I want to end the chapter. It's a little earlier than I planned to in my notes, but it felt right. What do you think? Please review!**


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